


Excuses

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: hi!! I love your writing so so much! here's a prompt request: the five times Shaw says she cares about Bear when she really means Root and the one time she tells Root directly that she cares about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuses

It’s a storm outside, wind swallowing up the streets and rain coming down like Niagara Falls. The sky is pitch black, and strings of lightning travel along the clouds before striking down, met by sonic booms of thunder. Shaw pulls out her phone, shielding it from the downpour with a hand as she checks the clock. 5:30 a.m.  _What the Hell could she want with me at five thirty a.m?_  Shaw seethes, head stooped down as she walks towards the abandoned subway entrance. Out of habit, she checks left to right for anyone watching.  _You’d have to be insane to be out here_ , Shaw mutters to herself, taking the rain-slicked stairs.

All around her, pipes drip and small puddles form on the concrete ground, all the way until the terminal. There, it is lit by yellow lights strung to the high ceiling, and the glow of a computer screen catches the corner of her eye. From the rolling chair at the desk, Shaw sees Root stand, provocative smirk on her face.

“Didn’t know you cared enough to come,” Root greets, trying to hide the smugness in her voice.

“I care about the  _dog_.”

* * *

 

As if on command, Bear gallops through the entrance, coming to Shaw affectionately. She kneels down to pet him, rubbing behind his ears, and his tail wags blissfully.  _Why is he wet? Has he been outside?_  A moment later, Harold emerges from the dark, humorously soaked, hair spiky and dripping, with water droplets speckling his glasses. Shaw stands when she sees him, wiping her now wet hands on her jeans, giving him a suspicious look.

“I didn’t know  _you_  were coming here, Harold.” Harold looks over to Root for answers, who walks up behind Shaw to join them.

“I know how much you wanted some  _alone_  time, Sweetie,” Root says in a doting tone, putting her hands on Shaw’s shoulders, mouth near Shaw’s ear with her eyes trained on Harold. His eyes are indifferent, but she sees a microscopic smile lift the corner of his mouth for half of a second. She gives him a lopsided one in return, all the while keeping her heartbeat from taking flight. “But we need Bear for this next mission.  _Harold_  here,” Root steps away from Shaw, coming closer to him with a smile, “took him home.”

“As I always do,” Harold informs her, slight annoyance coming to his tone. Root tilts her head to the side slightly, looking into his eyes before turning back and hooking a leash onto Bear’s collar.

“You can have him back later,” Root tells him, wrapping the leash’s handle once around her hand for good measure. Then, she directs her attention to Shaw. “You ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“To the dog show,” Root tells her, as if it were obvious, and a delighted smile comes to her face. “He’s gonna be a big star.” With that, she begins to walk back through the entrance, leaving Shaw and Harold to look at one another. They swap gazes, and in the end, Shaw shrugs her shoulders and goes to follow. This better be an indoor show, Shaw grumbles to herself, already hearing the downpour hitting against the streets above. She comes up the stairs, sees Root waiting for her at the top, and together they head to Root’s car.

_________\ If Your Number’s Up /_________

It was nearly nine thirty in the morning, and the day had cleared up significantly. Leaving the storm clouds behind in the Big Apple, Root and Shaw travel along the highway, only thirty minutes left in their travel up to Cato. In the back seat, Bear sleeps peacefully, curling into a ball on the chairs, giving off deep, loud breathing. Root has the radio on softly, just to keep some white noise between them, knowing how taxing the four and a half hour ride would be on both of their spirits. Shaw says nothing, but Root can feel that she is annoyed with being shut up in this car for so long.

“So, what is this show again?” Shaw asks, not for the first time; however, the empty space around her is driving her to the brink of raged insanity. Root smiles at hearing her voice, looking over to her as Shaw drives.

“Ruff Riders Agility Club of Upper New York,” Root tells her pleasantly, watching the sun catch in Shaw’s hair, giving her a halo-like outline. “It’s pretty much an obstacle course for dogs to compete for the best time and showmanship. Oh, and if anyone asks: Belgian Malinois, okay?”

“ _Mhmm_ ,” Shaw replies, checking the mirrors with a bored expression on her face. She knows all of this down to a science, yet can’t think of any words to say other than the pre-set ones driving through her mind.

“And  _why_  are we going?”

“One of the judges- Franque Benji- seems to be in deep with loan sharks,” Root informs her, looking out the passenger window as she does so. “Very likely at least  _one_  of them wants his head.” Shaw nods, keeping the name at the front of her brain. Silence falls over them again, Shaw’s question pool once more dry.

Shaw turns off of the highway, taking a deceleration lane to a small street, where she continues forward, finally in the midsts of Cato. The place isn’t much of a city, most things spread out and scaled down. Root looks back over at Shaw’s stern watch on the street.

“There’s a diner not far from the dog show,” Root says casually, making the statement open for suggestion. “If we finish this quick, we’ll have time to grab something to eat before hitting the road again.” Shaw nods her head in agreement, and Root can’t help but smile. “I wonder what the boys are doing,” Root ponders aloud, and not a moment later, Reese’s voice pushes through their ear wigs.

“Lionel and I are working on a case,” he tells them in his usual, cool tone.

“And last time I checked, Glasses was heading to work,” Lionel adds.

“What about the two of you, Shaw?” John asks, a playful remorse in his voice. “You left without even saying goodbye.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to give you a  _big_  hug,” Shaw replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Root watches her, smile growing on her face, before going to answer John’s question.

“Dog show up north,” she informs him. Looking back out the front windshield, her eyes spark. “Speaking of which, we just arrived.” Feeling the car stop, Bear clamors onto the center console, eyes wide and breath hot as he takes in the surroundings. Everywhere, men and women in high end suits and skirts walk with top-of-the-line shoes, hair fancily styled as they parade their freshly groomed dogs towards a building that connects to an outdoor arena. From Root’s side, she hears Shaw give an antagonized grunt, looking down at her own black-on-black attire before stepping out of the car, leash clutched angrily in one hand. Shaw, shaking her head, clips Bear’s collar to the leash, then meets Root stiffly around the front of the car hood.

“Lighten up, Sam,” Root tells her with a small smile and enjoyable tone. Shaw only tenses further, shooting killer eyes Root’s way. From Shaw’s left, she can feel Bear’s tail thumping wildly against her leg, anticipation radiating from him as he looks at this unexplored terrain. Shaw looks down at him, taking in his clean but not glossy shine, and his less-than-mannerly demeanor. A smirk comes to her face as they come to the registration line.

“This should be  _fun_.”

 _And if by fun you mean torture_ , Shaw seethes,  _then it’s a load of fun._

“Only one person can be the dog’s trainer,” an older woman tells them hostilely, voice gravelly and eyes narrowed behind cat’s eye glasses. She wears excessive amounts of red lipstick, and her hair is pulled into a tight, white bun, giving Shaw the impression of Roz from Monster’s Inc.

“Oh, I’m not the trainer,” Root tells her politely, voice as if she’s shocked at the mix up. Shaw holds in a smile at hearing the lie rolling off Root’s tongue so believably. “ _She’s_  the trainer.” The woman slides her pessimistic glare over to Shaw, who has to use all her restraint to not smack it off the woman’s face. _I don’t want to be doing this as it is, let alone get your approval_. The woman looks Shaw up and down, sneering cruelly at her wardrobe before her eyes find their way to the entry forms.

“Name.”

“Sameen Hunt,” Shaw answers her in an equally simple tone, voice edged with anger.

“I meant the  _other_  dog,” the woman grumbles out, and Shaw clenches her jaw, eyes smoldering as they look over to Root. Root isn’t sure how to consolidate her, and her face shows it completely. Shaw, cocking her head to the side in rage, rolls her tongue across her teeth before responding, murder in her voice.

“Bear.” The woman scribbles it down.

“Breed.”

“Belgian Malinois.” Again, more scribbling. Then, she hands the paper to Shaw, who rips it from her hand, eyes on fire. The woman looks at her indifferently before beckoning to the trainer behind her, dismissing the two women entirely. They walk deeper into the building, headed for the long panel of glass on the other end. Already, Root can see dogs prancing in the field outside, and the stands are quickly becoming crowded.

“I’m proud,” Root says in an amused voice, feeling the heat of Shaw’s anger against her side. “You didn’t kill her.”

“The day’s still young,” Shaw retorts, not glancing back to the woman, but eyes seeing red at the thought of her. “You’re just  _lucky_  I care about the dog. Doesn’t need to see that sort of thing.” Root tries to hide her smile, and she bumps into Shaw’s shoulder playfully. Shaw feels a tingle in the spot, and presses her lips together tightly, a new anger hitting her- one of fluster.

At the glass panel, the two go their separate ways- Root heading right within the building, and Shaw to the glass door- both ready to keep their eyes on the judge. Stepping into the brisk morning air, Shaw feels the sun wash over her face and lets out a sigh, trying to throw the tension in her muscles away. It doesn’t work.

Looking down at the paper, she sees the number fifty-three in the corner, and quickly walks across the field to that number’s area. She bends down, petting Bear affectionately as she scans the field. The show had already begun, a white poodle with the number twenty-six on her neck taking to the course. It is a series of ramps and puddles of water, met by sticks meant for maneuvering in and out of. At the end is a see-saw like contraption, met by three blocks of varying heights to jump over. Beside her, a man in a suit walks with her, whispering encouragement to her as she completes the course. Shaw’s ears explode with the volume of the cheering crowd. The poodle, too, seems disoriented by the intoxicating noise, and the man ushers her away without the need of a leash. Shaw peers down at Bear, wondering how well he’ll fair in a place like this without one.

“And let’s take this one to the judges,” a loud voice booms over the speakers, and Shaw searches for their booth. After a short scan, she sees five people on the panel, three women and two men, all dapper and stiff with smiles. At the end of the panel, Shaw can make out the name tag of ‘Franque Benji’ in front of a plump, balding man. His smile is plastered to his face, eyes seeming to have a fear past their faux enjoyment. The more Shaw looks at him, the more of a haunted look he has about him, eyes purple below with sleep deprivation, hands trembling slightly as he holds up a Seven card. “Jackie’s total is…. 24!” The man on the loud speaker announces, met by another round of applause.

They call up the next purebred in line- a Beagle- and Shaw’s mind wanders, not at all interested in this animal contest. She keeps her eyes on their number, looking half-heartedly for anyone shady coming his way. _I’m probably the shadiest one here_ , Shaw admits to herself, seeing how everyone else is elegantly dressed. That gets a humored smirk out of her. Dog after dog goes by, and number after number is announced; everything far too calm for Shaw’s taste.  _Where is Root in all of this?_ She thinks, thoughts becoming annoyed.  _She leaves me out here to parade around a grass field, and she’s no where to be found. She’s probably enjoying this_ , Shaw seethes, directing the thought to Bear, who- a second later- looks up at her with a dopey smile. Shaw rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face as she rubs behind his ears.  _Good thing I care about you,_  she projects, and Bear thumps his tail against the ground in response.

_________\ We’ll Find You /________

“Number Fifty-three! Bear, a Belgian Malinois, trainer: Sameen Hunt!” The crowd erupts like a volcano, and Shaw rolls her eyes, bending down to unlatch Bear’s collar.

“I know you only speak Dutch,” Shaw tells Bear as they walk to the starting point. “But get this: no running away. Okay?” Bear looks at her indifferent to the statement, and she purses her lips, hands on her hips as she nods. “Okay.”

“And…  _Begin_!” Bear looks to her, and she looks to him. Shaw gives him a hand gesture urging him forward, and he playfully gallops to the first obstacle- a ramp.

Shaw jogs up to him as he climbs it easily. Then, he jumps straight down, intentionally splashing into the large basin of water below, drenching Shaw completely. She’s taken aback by the icy cold water, and she shakes her head free of it, just as Bear shakes his coat, stepping from the small pool. From the crowd, few laugh at the sight. Bear starts off for the second part, and Shaw slicks her loose hair back to the ponytail, walking forward with squishing steps.

The next course is a labyrinth of bars, some high and others low, meant for him to crawl under and jump over. He surpasses this easily, and Shaw gives him a small, half smile of encouragement. Bear stops to look at her, tongue lolling as he enjoys his time, not for a second noting it as a timed competition. “C'mon,” Shaw urges under her breath, and Bear bounds over to the next obstacle playfully. A line of thin, evenly spaced posts.  _Oh boy._

Bear runs up to them, delighted, and grabs the first in his jaws. Picking the nearly weightless post from the ground, he shakes his head savagely, enjoying the new found toy. “ _Bear_ ,” Shaw seethes quietly, and he looks up at her. She steps forward to grab it, and he jumps back, head to the ground and tail to sky as he wags it playfully. Shaw can hear gasping from the crowd, and a smirk plays on her face. Humorously, Shaw lunges forward once more, and Bear turns, booking away, passing by the other posts entirely, missing the obstacle. He runs full throttle, jumping through a colorful hoop with wild grace, then stops at the see-saw, waiting for Shaw to catch up. When she finally does, he runs up it, but- feeling it shift under him- stops in the center, trying in vain to keep it balanced. Bear gives her a pitiful look, unsure what to do, and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

She walks to the other side of contraption, then pats her hands on her thighs, beckoning him forward. He gives her a distasteful look, and her eyes narrow. Again she beckons him, and this time he sneezes, dropping the post into the overly green grass.

From the other side of the arena, Shaw hears the faint traces of a struggle. Bear’s head whips that way, and a guttural growl instantly escapes his lips, and they curl into a fatal sneer. He jumps from the see-saw, legs pounding against the ground as he becomes a streak of brown and black zipping across the field, tufts of brown earth and green grass spitting up in his wake.

Shaw angles her head up to see where he is headed, and her breath catches.  _Root._ In the west entrance to the field, she fights hand-to-hand with a man at least twice her size and three times her weight. He has a large, black tattoo that starts at his forehead, trailing down and curling sharply on each cheek, then snakes around his neck under a black shirt. Shaw sees at the end of the short sleeved shirt, the tattoo continues on his muscular arms, stopping at last under his wrist. She sees Root holding up her own, but her stomach gives an unsettled lurch as she sees another man headed that way, tattoo matching the first.

She runs forward, much to the crowd’s upheaval of surprise, and gets half way there when Bear pounces on the first man, teeth sinking into his meaty arm.  _The man makes Bear look like a Yorkie_. Root stops, mid-strike, stunned to see Bear’s impromptu appearance. Shaw continues to run forward, seeing the second man looming dangerously close to Root, oblivious.

“Root!” Shaw yells out, less than ten feet away, but still too far to do anything. I can’t shoot him without starting turmoil, she thinks to herself, along with a few strings of swears. Root looks over at her, the shock still evident on her face, and turns just as the man swings, landing a heavy blow in her side. It looks like a wrecking ball hitting a house of cards. Shaw watches as Root folds in on herself, still standing but doubled over, trying to righten but finding it impossible.

Shaw comes up to him, avoiding the two meaty blows from her assailant, and ducks behind him, wrapping the leash around his neck and pulling him down to her level. She clenches her teeth together with the effort, every muscle screaming as he pulls against her, hands clawing at the restraint. After a minute of struggling, he goes limp, and Shaw releases him, letting his unconscious form drop to the floor. His skull hits the marble pathway with a loud crunch.

Peering up, Shaw sees Root has the other man taken care of and is wiping the blood from Bear’s muzzle. He squirms, not liking the constant rubbing against his gums, and looks to Shaw for help. Shaw, with a sigh, kneels down beside Root, petting Bear in comfort as Root continues to clean him up. From outside, Shaw can hear the announcer’s puzzled voice coupled with confusion in the crowd.

“Why, uh, wasn’t  _that_  delightful!” He trills cheerfully, an uncertainty lacing his words. “But don’t go anywhere, this is  _only_  the first round! Much more can happen in- in round two!”

“Thanks for coming for me,” Root says, voice doting as her eyes flicker over to Shaw.

“For the  _dog_ ,” Shaw corrects, and Bear makes a whining noise, hearing the flustered malice in Shaw’s voice. Shaw can feel her ears redden, and Root smiles, looking back to Bear.

“I think it’s safe to say Benji isn’t in danger- for now, at least,” Root tells her conversationally, standing. Shaw follows, linking Bear’s collar as they head out.

“Yeah, well the next time he  _is_ ,” Shaw hisses, shoulders tense, “ _we_  aren’t coming for him.”

“ _We_?” Root asks, a joy rumbling in her voice as she smirks smugly. “Are you worried one of us will get hurt?”

“ _You_  can come back and play hero whenever you want,” Shaw deflects her subtext heatedly. “ _I_  was talking about me and  _Bear_.”

________\ Excuses /________

Shaw and Root sit at an outdoor table, umbrella angled towards the sun, keeping them both in cool shade. At their heels, Bear lays under the table, chewing on a large bone. A waitress walks out to them with a large tray, smile on her smooth, dark face. Her curly hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and she pushes a strand behind her ear before leaning the tray against the table, handing them each a plate and drink in turn.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she says sweetly, and walks back through the diner doors. Shaw takes a swig of her soda, looking out at the crossroads around them. She takes in the vast, Roman style building across the street, then her eyes travel back to the flowery jungle that they sit in. All in front of the Millennium Diner, there are splatters of color. Pink flower bushes met by spider plants and purple forget-me-nots that climb up the building’s side. Around their bench are lively yellow pansies and orange tiger lillies. Her eyes continue across the table, coming to Root, seeing her pick up a burger with her left hand; it reminds her that she was hit hard in the right side.

Shaw picks at her fries a minute, the thought growing bigger and bigger in her mind until it takes up the entire space. Shaw can see Root’s arm stationary, sure that the hand is being held to her side. Root chews slowly, stopping every so often to take in a breath, eyes masking pain. Finally, Shaw can take it no longer and drops the french fry back to her plate. Sliding across the full circle bench, she comes to Root’s side, seeing her suspicions are correct. Root’s right hand is pressed firmly against her lower rib cage.

Root looks over at her with quizzical eyes, placing her right hand on the table, acting as if it was never at her side at all. She feels a thrill shoot up her spine as Shaw’s fingers grab the hem of her shirt, and her heart leaps to her throat as Shaw pulls it upwards.

“Not  _here_ , Sweetie,” Root tells her, forcing the tingling excitement from her voice, joking to keep her casual demeanor. Shaw looks up at her with dangerous, narrow eyes. She presses her thumb into Root’s ribcage, and Root inhales painfully. Shaw gives her a cold look with the slightest, cocky smile pulling at the corners of her lips, and she brings her gaze back down. She continues to pull the side of Root’s shirt up, stopping at the fifth rib from the bottom.

All around the area is an ugly plum color that spreads along Root’s side, fading out slightly around the edges, but nearly black at the center.

“ _Tell_  me, doc,” Root says melodramatically, trying to hold in a smile with little success. “Am I gonna live?” Shaw gives a silent chuckle at the words, but is too focused to make a snide comment back.

Bringing her right hand to the beginning of the bruise, she delivers a slight pressure, enough to make Root wince. Root holds her breath, not wanting to show the pain she’s in, and Shaw slides her hand up Root’s side, maintaining the same amount of pressure. Root’s senses are on fire, blood surging through her veins and mind fluttering without a single strand of coherence. She can see colorful explosions in her vision, pain nearly forgotten, and she finds that she couldn’t have breathed even if she wanted to.

She takes her gaze off of Shaw, looking straight out at the green shrubbery before them, doing all she can not to burst. Shaw’s hand trails back down Root’s side, eyes deep in concentration, before her hand finally pulls away. Root’s mind finally breaks free of its restraints, and she can breathe once more, scolding herself for how breathy it comes to her. She can feel a heat welling in her cheeks, and hopes it doesn’t show.

“Nothing’s broken,” Shaw informs her in a professional tone. “But you have a pretty bad muscle contusion  _here_ ,” Shaw’s fingertip touches Root’s skin once more, sending an electrical current through her system, “and  _here_.” Root takes an extended amount of time to blink, willing the smile off of her face as Shaw’s finger trails down to a different spot, lingers a moment, then falls away. “Nothing heat won’t fix.” Root nods, although she hadn’t heard anything more than _‘nothing’s… here… heat… fix.’_

Suddenly, Root finds it impossible to breathe, Shaw’s close proximity stifling and intoxicating. Coughing slightly, Root tries to find something to say-  _something sure to annoy her, but still testing my luck._

“So you  _do_  care about my well being, huh?” Root asks, pleased at the smugness that laces her tone.

“Yeah, sure, Root.” Root freezes at the words, not at all expecting them. She brushes Shaw’s left hand away, bringing her shirt back down. Root’s eyes are wide, watching Shaw- waiting for some explanation- yet one never comes. Shaw slides back across the bench, digging in to her own platter of fries and a burger, slipping some to Bear below the table, who munches on the golden strips loudly.

“Wait, y- you’re  _agreeing_  with me?” Root asks, unable to mask the shock in her voice, all the while a toothy smile growing on her face. Shaw stuffs in a large bite of her burger, then chews, before answering.

“Yeah.” She says, voice muffled by the food still in her mouth. “Care about you… but I still care about the  _dog_  more.”


End file.
